


The Sentimental Seraph

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 19:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Saccharine-sweet fluff just in time for a valentine.





	The Sentimental Seraph

“Cas,” you whine, breath hissing through your chattering teeth to hang misty in the chilly pre-dawn air of the forest.

The angel pushes onward and upward, several sure-footed steps ahead of you in this copse of mature silver-trunked naked-branched beech trees. Through the barren pinnacle of stems above, the twinkle of the stars falters; the approaching promise of morning’s light shrouds the eventide sky in swaths of pale purple and growing glimmers of orange.

It’s no surprise he’s ignoring you – you’ve been cranky ever since he roused you from the comfort of sleep and a cozy bed to usher you bleary-eyed and yawning into his truck without explanation nigh on three hours ago. He knows you hate mornings. He’s admitted before to finger quote unquote _filtering_ any syllables flowing from your tongue tinged with a certain tone until such variable, and thus indeterminable, time as your wakeful disposition improves since you rarely mean what you say in these cantankerous moods once you are no longer weltering in them.

He already apologized, twice. Once, for forgetting the thermos of piping hot coffee he packed on the counter; the second time, for not having time to stop at any of the twenty odd gas stations you passed on the drive out to this God-forsaken disconcertingly vertical expanse of nature. At this point, cold seeping into your bones, you wish he’d stowed something significantly stronger than coffee to heat the blood flowing frosty in your veins.

You stumble on a slick of mud, one knee sinking to the decaying leaf-strewn soil. The damp infiltrates and discolors the fabric of your jeans, chilling you further and doing little to pacify your temper. “Hey, angel!” you huff, louder, the cool atmosphere biting at your lungs with every inhalation. “Where’s the fire?”

He halts, pivoting at the torso to peer back in determined regard. Realizing your predicament, aspect gentling in sympathy, he thinks better of correcting your inaccuracy regarding an actively burning blaze nearby. His supposition is based solely on the fact that the maturity and health of the trees suggests this particular forest is not at all plagued by fires; not to mention the lack of smoke. Instead, he wisely retraces his path to offer you a helping hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you grumble, hanging heavily on his proffered arm as he hauls you to your feet and you brush and smear bits of sodden soil from your leg. Giving up the grubby endeavor, you glance sidelong at the angel, features skeptically weary, asking, “Ready to share yet where you’re leading me on this surprise death march?”

“Just over there.” He motions to a point perhaps a dozen yards ahead of where you stand; the peak of the sloping earth is visible now, illuminated by the brightening sky beyond. “It’s not much further,” he says in stifled haste, the pooling blue of his irises soundlessly begging you to hurry along lest you miss the very reason he brought you here.

Annoyance thawing with the melt of your heart, you cannot deny his pleading puppy look. “Okay then,” you puff, “let’s go.”

The smallest of smiles skirts his expression. Snaking an arm about your waist for support, he guides your way.

You emerge on the hilltop to a level valley vista blanketed by thick fog. The bucolic scene unfolds as far as you can perceive to a blaze of multifaceted golds bursting forth on the horizon. “Wow,” you whisper at the flourish of the sunrise. “It’s gorgeous!” You feel guilty you complained. “Cas, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t-,” he soothes as he cloaks his trench coat around your shivering frame. He shifts behind you, pressing his vessel to your body and drawing you flush against himself in a warming embrace. Settling his chin on your shoulder, he affectionately nuzzles the delicate stretch of neck below your ear with his scruffy chin. “Don’t apologize for being you.”

Reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair, you exhale a contented sigh. It’s just one of the things you love about the angel – never once in all your time together has he faulted you for being who you are or for the mistakes you have made, and the feeling is mutual. Neither of you is perfect; neither of you expects the other to be.

“Do you want to know why I brought you here?” the rumble of his throat vibrates across your flesh.

“Hmm?” you hum, squirming under his ticklish tenderness.

“It’s Saint Valentine’s Day.”

Your eyes blink wider, reflecting the glinting patina of the sky. In your haze of incensed grogginess, you totally forgot the date.

“I wanted to show you how much you mean to me…how much I love you.” It’s the first time he has uttered the sentiment aloud. “Not just today, of course, but all the days,” he clarifies. “From the very first moment I laid eyes upon you.”

“Cas, I-” Your muscles no longer tremble from the cold – body awash in the heat of the angel and emblazoned by the fiery rays of the rising sun.

Gazing into the blinding light, undeterred by your attempt to speak, he goes on, “You see, there was no greeting card capable of expressing the depth of my love. Nor does there seem to exist a sweet or chocolate to delight your senses to the degree with which you nourish mine. And flowers, well, they are beautiful, but terribly fleeting. A sunrise though-”

“Castiel-”

He rolls with a momentum of emotion. “This radiant light shimmers with the same splendor of your soul. I have never seen more infinite beauty than that contained in your boundless heart. And the way the beams of breaking day soothe and caress the skin,” he extends a palm before you, catching the sparkle of the light in the lines and whirls of his fingertips, “is like basking in your welcoming warmth. With you shining in my life I will always find the path, my way home, no matter how terrible the darkness and the shadows trailing behind.”

You wriggle in his grip, twisting to face him, voice quivering, “Angel-”

Wetly lustrous earnest blues meet your tearful gaze. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything else in crea-”

Leveraging his tie, you yank him to your mouth to quiet him with a kiss. Lips softly swelling, tongues sensually sweeping, a slow burn of passion surging between you, you pull away gasping before he steals the last remnant of your breath, “I love you, too, my angel.” You’ve been trying to say it all along – trying to tell him you understand without an explanation, because he, too, is your sunrise.

Fingers tangling your hair, sun ascending eternally higher to illume your intertwined forms, he lays his forehead to yours and smiles.


End file.
